Jesus Army: Magazine - Prophetic Word

THANKS TO the Government's new employment law, we have an official definition to go by. "Younger" is up to 25, "prime" is 25 to 54, and "older" is 55 onwards.

What has any of that got to do with church? Timothy was taught the scriptures from childhood. Paul told Ephesian husbands and fathers to be both responsible and restrained - while their offspring eavesdropped. Then he urged grandmas to train the young mums. Chopping up lively congregations into age groups is a modern, Western distortion. It may catch a few extra attenders, but won't ever produce the new society of the Kingdom.

I remember my first encounters with this 'new society' at Bugbrooke in the early days of the Jesus Fellowship.

"Hello, I'm Trevor. I'm a junior elder." He'd picked his way across the building rubble that formed our front garden, to meet this newly-arrived young family. We'd been to meetings on a couple of Sundays. Yes, the presence of the Holy Spirit had stirred us. Now Trevor was about to open my eyes.

"Tuesday's Fellowship night; Wednesday's Shepherding house groups; Thursday's Bible Study. You know about Saturdays and Sundays. And on Bank Holiday Monday we have Seven Hours With Jesus 'til 10pm."

"But what about the children?" My single response sounded feeble.

"They come too! We've got two girls - they just fall asleep when they get tired." Trevor's warm smile wasn't apologetic. It was to reassure me.

I'd spent ten years wandering in regular Christian scenes. We'd become a regular family. You know: kids bathed and in bed by seven. Weekends as likely to be visiting relatives or on a "short break", as being found at church.

A recollection floated from somewhere at the back of my mind… how the early Methodists preached to the Bristol colliers and their families at 5am or whatever hour they could be gathered. An inward voice prompted, "How much do you want this life?"

After my conversion, I'd always want to find something living. Now I wasn't so sure, if it came in this packaging. I was a sensible father, I told myself. But was I a spiritual one? The inner voice urged again: "Say no to this, and you'll never be able to say you didn't have a chance to live all-out for God…" I was shocked.

Trevor, still standing on the doorstep, invited us round for tea, any time. "We'll come", I promised.

At the Shepherding group Trevor introduced our growing Jesus family. "This is Mrs Eales, she's 90. She got baptised when she was 86." "No, 86," corrected Mrs Eales, deaf as a post. All ages. Just like in the main meetings. I'd seen young men in denim and shoulder-length hair, rapt in worship, prophesying, and then hugging white-haired "straights". No embarrassment. No discrimination. No barriers.

I still have red-lined veins on my thighs from the long hours our children sat on my lap in meetings until they drifted to sleep. As teenagers they stood right there as we worshipped and witnessed in shopping precincts. The boys were taught to be PA experts, and the girls learned to follow Jesus with caring older friends. Throughout almost all our years of community residency, there's been a saintly pensioner in the house family. I count that a particular blessing.

Our aim is that all ages can find both their peers and a place in the heart of the complete church. I asked a busy mother if she minded having to slip out of a meeting if the children got restless. "I've got my strongest relationships through sharing those times," she confirmed.

A group of Christian ministries reported on the fall-out rate of workers and volunteers under 30. They concluded this generation "does spirituality" differently from their read-your-bible-and-pray-every-morning ancestors. Converted from the excess culture, they want to crash and burn for God, too. So, one weekend, our congregation ran a straight 28 hours of prayer and worship. The impact was amazing. Everybody enjoyed it, however much they joined in, though by Sunday night some of us were stupidly exhausted.

Last time round, our varied programme included a medley of solid hymns sung before dawn. "The best bit was that 26-verse one," announced 11-year-old Conor. Accommodating the generations doesn't equal so middle-of-the-road that no-one is enthused. (Beige, they call it.)

Don't be told it's a maturity issue. Baby Christians come in all ages. And development may be slower the later you start. So there's no monopoly on what format and style of worship touches something authentic. Teenagers can find God in medieval chants; pensioners can express their praise in rave music. A congregation that obliges predictable conformity, whether to guitar bands, pipe organs or choruses, is confining God's revelation, not protecting it, nor advertising it. The same goes with dress and language.

The generations issue is a cultural one, which the gospel squarely attacks. Industrialization sent men away from the home to paid work, and segregated children for education. It drove apart the generations. Why, when we see what results from the weakening of family life in its broadest sense, do we rush to inflict it on the church? Let's take a stand.

Ian Callard is an apostolic leader of the Jesus Fellowship Church.